


Comfort Zone

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety, M/M, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, New Year's Eve, No Eurus Holmes, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, POV Sherlock Holmes, Probably during season 2 without Irene, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sibling Incest, Smut, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-09-10
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:02:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: It's New Year's Eve and Sherlock doesn't like it.





	Comfort Zone

“… on New Year's Eve.”

Sherlock's head snapped up. He had been in his mind palace, thinking over the fascinating results of his last experiment, but this had ripped him out of his pleasant thoughts.

John shook his head. “You haven't heard a word I was saying in the past five minutes, have you?”

Probably it had been more like half an hour… He got up from his chair. “Um, sorry. I have to go now, Molly has some nice rotten organs for me and…”

“Sherlock!”

“What?!”

John sighed. “You still haven't answered me. What are we going to do on New Year's Eve? I've asked you plenty of times and you never said anything to it.”

Their first turn of the year together. Or rather not… “I have no plans but to stay in this flat and do something productive and intellectual,” Sherlock said haughtily. “You are free to go out and… have fun,” he concluded with a hint of disgust.

“Oh. Okay. You don't like it, huh?”

Sherlock sighed. “John, I despise Christmas as you might have noticed. I don't go to any parties. Ever. So why do you think I'd celebrate turning the calendar from December to January? It's stupid.”

John shrugged. “Yeah, if you put it like this… I'll stay here, too, then.”

Sherlock froze. “No. I didn’t mean to spoil your fun. Go out! Meet Mike Stamford or Lestrade or your sister or whomever. Amuse yourself. You deserve it! You're working so hard, being a doctor and solving cases with me, and all the blogging! Go for it!” He plastered a smile onto his face that probably looked rather grotesque.

Thankfully, John had obviously only suggested staying at home, too, so Sherlock didn’t have to be alone. “If you're sure you don't mind being here on your own...”

“Thank you, John, it's very considerate of you but I've always been alone that day, and the night and…” Dammit, he should be able to lie more convincingly…

But John, as unobservant as ever, just nodded. “You're not too keen on being around people, huh?”

_What gave it away… _“Um, well. You know, John, I appreciate your, um, loyalty and things. But I can very well be on my own for a day. And a night.”

“All right then. Greg has invited me over but I didn’t want to accept before having spoken to you.”

“Who?”

“Lestrade!”

“Oh.” Sure, the DI had to have a first name, too. He had never bothered asking. “I'm sure it will be… pleasant.” Hanging around with Lestrade and his treacherous wife and probably ten other coppers. Sounded like hell to him.

“Yeah. And of course you can still come along if you change your mind!”

Lestrade had invited Sherlock a few times in the past years but Sherlock had of course always declined. No wonder the man didn’t bother doing it anymore. “I'll be fine, John,” he assured his flatmate.

“You know, Mrs Hudson won't be here, either. She always stays with her sister then, she told me,” John said. “Having fondue and chatter each other into a coma, probably. You'll be all alone in the house.”

“I'll be _fine_, John.” In fact the house would be completely empty then for a good part of the night…

“All right, all right!”

*****

Sherlock let himself in with the key he had nicked years ago. Mycroft knew that of course but he had never changed the locks or even complained about it.

It was eleven pm and there had been a few explosions of light and noise already when Sherlock had been sitting in the cab. When he had arrived before his brother's house, he had had to loosen his grip at the backseat with some effort.

He went straight upstairs after hanging up his coat and slipping out of his shoes, not bothering to make light. He could see well in the dark.

The bedroom door was ajar and he could see the pale shimmer of the dimmed light.

Mycroft was lying in the bed, the blanket up to his chest, in one of his silly pyjamas, and he was reading a book that was probably awfully dull. When Sherlock entered, he looked up and nodded. “Brother mine.”

“Mycroft.”

The politician gestured at the nightstand or more precise at the plate that was standing on it, filled with sandwiches. “Help yourself.”

“Thanks, but I'm not hungry,” Sherlock said, as usual.

Mycroft nodded. “Do me the favour, would you?” he said calmly, also as usual.

Sherlock sighed and stalked around the bed, sat down on it and took a cheese sandwich. It was pretty good, he had to admit while chewing. Well, they were always good… He offered the plate to his brother, who shook his head.

“I already had dinner, thank you.”

“Come on. Eat. Humour me.”

Mycroft gave in quickly enough and chose a sandwich with a thick topping of salmon. Sherlock found that very appealing and took one himself after gobbling down the other one. And winced when a muffled explosion came to his ears.

“They start early this year,” Mycroft said softly.

“'s forbidden,” Sherlock grumbled with his mouth full.

“It is. But we sadly enough don't have enough policemen to make sure people follow these rules.”

“We don't even have enough of them to prevent people from killing each other…”

“Well, very true indeed. But if we had, you wouldn’t have a job.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and stuffed the rest of the sandwich into his mouth.

“When you're finished, could you…”

“Yes, yes, I'll bring it back into the fridge.”

“Fine. Thank you.”

Sherlock went to the downstairs bathroom after storing the leftovers and brushed his teeth with the brand new toothbrush he found on the sink. He had showered before leaving his flat so he was finished with his nightly routine.

When he came back into the bedroom, Mycroft had put the book aside. He was about to say something when colourful fireworks lightened up the room.

Sherlock cursed and basically jumped out of his clothes, leaving only his pants on. A pair of pyjamas was waiting for him on a chair, as it always did, but Sherlock ignored it and slipped under the large blanket in nothing but his boxer briefs.

Two elegant hands stuffed the blanket tight around him as if this would make any sense, and then Mycroft switched the light off.

Sherlock could see the fireworks despite having his eyes closed, and he knew this was just a hint at what was about to come. He yelped when another loud noise reached his ears through the bulletproof glass of Mycroft's bedroom window.

“Shh, it's okay.”

Sherlock crawled into the direction of this soothing noise and was welcomed by two warm, strong arms and nuzzled his face against Mycroft's neck, breathing in his clean scent.

“I wasn’t sure you'd come this year,” Mycroft whispered while stroking over his hair. Because of John, naturally… “I thought you'd found someone to do this for you, someone… else. But you don't want to show him this side, do you?” Mycroft sounded sad and Sherlock knew what he was thinking – that he wanted to impress John with everything he was doing because he was in love with him. Everybody thought that…

Whatever Sherlock had wanted to say to this stayed in his throat when the cacophony of fireworks seriously started. Despite the black curtains that Mycroft had installed just for him, despite having his eyes closed as much as he could, despite almost crawling into Mycroft, he could still see the lights of blue and red, and no window was thick enough to keep this horrible noise out.

Sherlock was shivering and panting now and held by two arms that wouldn’t let him go.

Slowly Sherlock moved, putting one leg over Mycroft's body until he was straddling him. He shoved down his brother's pyjama pants until he felt warm, plump flesh, throbbing against his hand. Mycroft let his arms slide deeper until he could put Sherlock's pants over his arse, and a moment later their hard pricks were meeting between their bodies, both slick with pre-come.

No word was spoken when Sherlock started to masturbate them both with his large left hand, making them pant in unison. The ghastly noises started to move into the background while Sherlock was rubbing his leaking cock against Mycroft's, and he moaned when Mycroft's forefinger circled around his hole. He moved faster and faster, using their combined essence to ease his way, until he searched Mycroft's mouth in a deep, messy kiss and a hot eruption left his body, coating their dicks and Mycroft's stomach with stripes of come.

His mind still dizzy from his hefty orgasm, he let himself be pushed from his brother's body. Instantly Mycroft embraced him from behind with one arm while scooping some of Sherlock's semen into his hand to wet his cleft and then he started rutting into the crack, sliding up and down, rubbing over his hole until he cried out and painted Sherlock's arse with his seed.

The fireworks had decreased now and Sherlock only heard them from far away while he was lying pressed into the pillows, his brother's heavy body covering his.

He had always hated fireworks. He was sure his terror rooted in an experience when he had been two years old and his parents had taken him to a festival; Mycroft had been in boarding school back then. A fireworks rocket had gone the wrong way and landed next to them. He had not been hurt but since then, he felt nothing but panic and horror every time he had to witness fireworks, and naturally, it was worst at New Year's Eve. He had tried to delete this experience plenty of times but it had been pointless.

Mycroft had been at home at this time of year and Sherlock would always crawl into his bed and Mycroft would pat and comfort him.

And seven years ago, he had done more than this, and it had happened on every New Year's Eve ever since. As much as they had diverged since Mycroft had gone off to uni and then his government job, as much as they bickered and excoriated each other for being too stiff/reckless/boring/unpredictable – Sherlock would always come to Mycroft for New Year's Eve.

And he would always leave when Mycroft had fallen asleep after the noise was over.

And neither of them would ever say a word about anything that happened in this one night between one year and the next one. And only when they met for the first time in the New Year, Mycroft would look at him with eyes full of an emotion he never put in words before he returned to being smug big brother.

When Sherlock had got dressed, he looked at the sleeping form of his brother. How young and light he looked like this. His hair was tousled and his mouth was a tiny bit open.

Sherlock left and he felt something he hadn't felt on any previous first of January before. A feeling of loss he couldn’t elaborate.

*****

“Hey, how are you?”

“You are in an awfully good mood, John.”

The doctor grinned and took off his jacket. “Needed a pot of coffee and a very cold shower to be in this condition, believe me. But I had a great evening and after it, Greg offered me his couch as I, well, couldn’t walk that well anymore. You really have to come with me next year.”

Of course he would definitely not. Even without his 'condition' he was able to live without seeing John or anyone else completely pissed… “We will see. I made tea if you like some.”

“Oh, great. Tea is always good. What did you do?”

“Not much.”

“It's a shame, you know. I thought you've come a pretty long way since we started living together. You're not as misanthropic as you pretend to be.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “Am I not?”

“No. Admit it – you like Greg and Molly and Mrs Hudson. You can as well adhere to being just as human as we are. We're your friends and we like to spend time with you outside cases and bringing you tea.”

“_I_ made tea,” Sherlock grumbled and John sighed.

“You know what I mean.”

“Don't you have to change your underwear, John?”

“All right. But you're missing out if you only live for your cases and games. There's more than this in life, even yours.” And with this John ended his preaching and left him alone.

Sherlock sat in silence for a minute before he took his phone.

_Can I come over this afternoon? SH_

The answer came at once and when Sherlock read it, he smiled.


End file.
